


Fire

by dabs_into_oblivion



Series: dungeons & dragons stuff [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Dungeons & Dragons Character Backstory, Loge is trans, Trans Male Character, also abusive and neglectful, backstory for my tiefling bardlock named Loge, his parents are transphobic, world created by Patricia Wallinga
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:01:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25591003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dabs_into_oblivion/pseuds/dabs_into_oblivion
Summary: Some formative events in Loge's childhood.
Series: dungeons & dragons stuff [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1853539
Kudos: 1





	Fire

**Trigger warning: misgendering, deadnaming, transphobia, neglect, abuse.**

Her mother pulls the box out from under the bed. "Up, Eden."

She scrambles to her feet, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Her mother has already turned away. Eden knows her skin, her horns, her eyes, her entire being is ugly, so she doesn't question this. She slips noiselessly through the door and outside.

At three, she's too small to help with chores, so she retrieves the sticks that she's carefully shaped like daggers from their hiding place behind the barn. She doesn't know what she's doing, but that doesn't dampen her enthusiasm. If she can fight, maybe her parents will love her.

The sun is low in the sky when she remembers that she hasn't eaten. She stuffs her sticks under a pile of straw and manure and creeps along the side of the house until her head is barely peeping through the doorway. Just inside is a plate of scraps. With a speed borne of long practice she sweeps the scraps into her skirt, leaving the plate untouched, and returns to her play area behind the barn.

That evening her father drinks. He drinks most nights. He calls her mother "darling." Eden huddles outside the door until her parents' breaths are slow and steady. The moon is directly overhead when she crawls back into her box and pushes her hands against the dusty floor to propel herself back under the bed. Her eyes are little yellow pinpricks in the darkness.

\-----

Eden has named his favourite goat Frisky. He's too big for the box so he keeps his stick daggers in it and sleeps in the soft warmth of Frisky's belly. He's eight years old and taller than his mother. The plates of scraps have not gotten any bigger.

Frisky snorts damply when Eden tells her he's a boy. She licks his face, then presents him with a mouthful of straw. He cries.

Every day Eden follows his father into the field, mimicking his actions. Oden pretends not to notice that things are getting done significantly faster. Eden hears Maeve congratulating her husband and digs his fingernails into his palms. When that doesn't hurt enough he presses the point of one of his sticks into his palm. He holds his hand over a pile of manure so his blood doesn't soil anything important.

He rips his skirt up the middle and crudely stitches it back together to form trousers of a sort. He feels better.

\-----

It's his ninth birthday, not that his parents have remembered, but still Eden dares to walk into the house.

Oden looks up sharply. "What's she doing in here?" He stands.

Eden is eye level with his father at 5'10", four inches taller than his mother.

Maeve stands. "What have you done to your skirt? You're not getting another one."

Eden ignores this. "Pa, Ma, I …" He's shaking. He can't remember the last time he spoke to either of them. Still, they're the only people he knows, and they matter to him. "I'm a boy."

"Did you hear something?" Oden asks his wife. Maeve shakes her head.

Eden bites back the tears and turns to leave. As he ducks through the doorway, he hears his father say, "I never want her to set foot in this house again. She's not to eat until she admits she's lying for attention."

Eden stumbles into the barn, falling to his knees, burying his face in Frisky's coat, his body heaving with dry sobs.

He eats straw, just a little so his father won't notice it's missing. He drinks Frisky's milk. He drinks from the well when his parents are asleep. He stops following Oden into the field. He stops practicing with his stick daggers. His hair dulls from bright orange, browning slightly.

Each time he looks longingly toward the house, Frisky blocks his view.

On the eleventh day, Oden comes into the barn with a rope halter. He fastens it on Frisky's head and leads her out. Eden pulls himself to his feet and leans on the door frame for support, peering out into the midday brightness. A peddler stands by their cart, their horse pawing the dirt. Oden approaches them, holding out the end of the rope. They straighten and produce five rolls of expensive-looking fabric. Oden says something. The peddler leans sideways, eyeing Frisky. Then they nod and reach into their cart, bringing out three rolls of ribbon.

Eden tries to shout, but his voice catches in his throat. The effort brings him to his knees. Oden, turning back to the house, meets his child's eyes. The look in the farmer's eyes is unmistakable. Everything you care about belongs to someone else.

Somehow Eden stumbles across the yard and catches his father on the doorstep of the house. "Please. Pa." He bows his head, blinking away tears. "I'm sorry. I was lying. I'm your daughter." Each word feels like one of his stick daggers in his hand.

Oden merely nods and steps into the house. Through the blur of his tears Eden hears voices, then footsteps, and the plate with its scraps is placed just inside the door in its usual spot. He eats. Everything tastes like sand.

\-----

Oden has brought the last of the harvest in, Eden silently and invisibly helping him as always. He drinks heavily and even convinces his wife to drink a little. They sing loud, raucous songs.

Eden sits in as small a ball as he can fold his limbs into, his hands in a goat's coat. At fifteen, he's 6'3" and hasn't quite grown into his height yet. He has taken old, stained monthly rags and bound his chest with them. It's better than nothing.

Seconds after his eyes drift shut, they snap open. Something is burning.

It takes him a few seconds to realise that the barn is burning. It takes him a few more seconds to round up the goats and send them out. His hands scrabble for his stick daggers, stuffing them into his waistband and his boots. His hair smokes. He grasps the offending section and hacks it off with a stick, dropping it and stamping on it. He kneels, takes a deep breath, then straightens and dashes outside.

His parents stand in front of the house. Maeve's arms are folded across her chest and Oden's face is an almost tiefling-like shade of purple. He points to the barren road leading south.

The green tiefling sketches an exaggerated bow, turns his back, and walks away.

\-----

He was fine with his name before, but it's too close to his father's. Eden Odensdaat. He doesn't want any connection to where he's from. Sitting on the steps of a tavern porch, he fingers the frayed edges of his shirt. In his mind he returns to the barn, leaving his hair burning on his head, striding out in a halo of flame. Loge. He smiles. He blazes. He is reborn.


End file.
